Bestia
by The Devils Plaything
Summary: AU:Lying on the battlefield in the aftermath of the war between good and evil.  Hermione Granger, bloodied, battered, and dieing, finds her self the center and soul plaything of a clan of ravenous werewolves.  Can she stall them long enough for help?
1. Chapter 1

_**(Disclaimer – I own nothing.)**_

Chapter 1 – Prologue

"Death is better, a milder fate than tyranny." - Aeschylu

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The night air was still and the frost nipped at the skin that was unfortunate enough to be exposed. There wasn't a cloud in the sky as the domineering shine of the waning moon glared down on the bloody battle sight below it illuminating almost everything it touched. A silence blanketed the picturesque scene of the final war between the sides of good and evil. In the thick of it all, among empty stares of the dead, laid one figure. She might as well have been dead, as she looked up at the heavens, not blinking, and only interrupting the night's forged calm with raspy shallow breaths.

It was over, but to her, there was no clear-cut victor. Her left shoulder gave a sharp jolt of pain and she knew with every slow beat of her heart, blood pumped out of the gapping wound that trailed from were it started on her chest, over her shoulder only stopping dangerously close to her jugular. Every breath ripped through her chest like rusted knives through steal, and she couldn't muster the strength to try to attempt anything for it. Her eyes slid to the side and a sneer twitched at her cut lips. What she saw - a heap of gray matted fur, long yellowed nails, and even though she couldn't see them knew what his eyes looked like…a sickly shade of metallic gold, a color that to her resembled mustard left out on a plate for days to crust and mold.

Fenrir Greyback, and dead as every other body strewn across the bloodied battlefield, or so she thought. The nerves and muscles that he had ripped through, right after she sent a slicing hex straight for him with her wand still clutched in her hand, was shot rendering her unable to drop the weapon even if she wanted to. A strangled sickly laugh crocked through her mouth as she lay in the open field they had named the 'Devil's Playground.' It wasn't at Hogwarts, but an open usually calm muggle countryside somewhere in Edinburgh. They decided on this place for its remote location and nothing more.

But this…this was it…no more secret missions to find Horcruxes. No more hiding in abandon caves and building days on end to dodge Death Eaters who were on their trail. No more sleep deprivation, or hunger because they were all to busy running and covering their asses.

No…this was it…death had finally come, and she was perfectly, oddly, contently at peace with this. Her battle-hardened honey colored eyes closed slowly as a comfortable numb settled over her weary, blood covered body. She could feel herself drifting off then in a sea of absolute bleakness when she heard it. The steady clip of feet crunching through the half frozen grass of the field they all laid in. Hermione could barely open her eyes when the sound of softly falling footsteps joined a new noise. It was a kind of groan mixed with a few choice words that would make even a sailor blush.

She let out a shaky sigh, she really had wanted to die in peace, and she was accepting it for goodness sakes that was until she felt a pair of hands grab her roughly at the collar and haul her up a few inches. Hermione's eyes snapped open only to be met with a pair of smoky colored amber eyes. They boiled with pure hatred, loathsomeness, and it was all directed onto her.

"Wakey, wakey, poppet," the voice was a low rumbling sound, horse and scratchy, but definitely female. "Don't want you diein' on meh."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask who she was, but a small airy wheeze filtered past her lips instead of words. The woman in front of her tilted her head to the side and opened her own mouth as her eyes brows lifted slightly.

"What was tha'?" The woman teased as she turned her head to the side fully, looking at something Hermione couldn't see. "You goin' to be alright?"

She knew the question wasn't aimed at her because she heard a gruff reply followed by more swearing. Hermione took to the time to study the woman hovering above her. Thick black hair hung past her shoulders and swung down almost tickling Hermione's chin. Her face was a perfect ivory color with not a flaw marring the skin, and the only thing standing out was the red staining her full lips.

Hermione felt herself hitting the ground suddenly and she blinked a few times against the blinding pain that shot through her body. She heard an amused sort of chuckle somewhere above her when she gasped out in pain. Her head sidled to the side and her eyes grew wider a fraction at the sight of Greyback standing sneering down at her.

"Hullo, love," he said crustily. He motioned for the woman still standing with a foot on either side Hermione to pick her up which she did with out struggle and slung her over her shoulder.

"_Hermione!" _

She blinked as her head bobbed from side to side as the woman carrying her picked up speed. She could have sworn she heard her name, and it sounded oddly like Remus Lupin. Hermione tried to get her numb body to cooperate, but she knew it wouldn't, actually it amazed her that she was still conscious. It wouldn't surprise her really if she was merely delusional. It wasn't until she heard more voices calling her name repeatedly and the recognizable sounds of spells being cast did try to look up. When she did she caught a glimpse of three figures. It was a short-lived victory however when she felt herself being thrown down and into the arms of someone else.

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Harry, Ron, and Remus scrambled after the two furtive figures as they dashed through the field littered with the dead of Death Eaters and Order members alike. They finally reached the edge of a dense forest only to see the woman standing defiantly in their path. It was the same woman that had snatched Hermione and took off.

"Where is she at?" Demanded a ragged looking Harry. The woman sneered baring a pair of sharpened canines. Remus could feel the wolf in him react almost instantly. After all like calls to like.

"Oh, you talkin' about the mudblood?" the dark haired woman hissed out venomously. Remus's sharp eyes caught movement behind her and soon saw three more figures emerge from the shadows of the trees.

"Harry…" Remus whispered urgently. "Their werewolves." It was an obvious by the way the reflection of the moon caught the distinct shade of glowing yellowish-brown eyes. Their scent drifted towards him on the slight wind and he growled deep in his throat when he realized who exactly they were. They were apart of Fenrir Greybacks pack.

"Just give her back!" Ron shouted courageously with his wand held steadily. The woman barked out a laugh and tossed her head back before dropped her eyes back to stare straight at them.

"Sorry, but we call the spoils of war. That fiery little number took out several of our clan members, and I think we'll be taking retribution from her dirty blood."

Remus couldn't help but feel like he knew the woman in front of him from somewhere. The wild sort of look that had crossed her face settled down into one of contempt as she continued to speak.

"Personally I wouldn't bother, but you know Fenrir," she laughed humorlessly as her gaze locked on to Remus. "She got him good. Almost killed him, and he's not too happy about it. I mean a muggle born taking the likes of him down. Riled him up good, I'd say."

Remus growled again and bared his own teeth although nowhere near menacing as the woman's. She chuckled slightly before taking a step back, but not in fear.

"Don't try and follow Lupin," the others that flanked her followed her lead. "Other wise your old _friend_ might just kill the girl now instead of playing with her first."

Harry, and Ron tensed at that, and Remus could feel the hatred roll of them. He stopped the boys from moving however as the werewolves disappeared again. He braced himself as the both reeled on him shouting their demands of what he did that for.

"Because," Remus finally said softly, wearily, "she spoke the truth. Greyback won't hesitate to kill Hermione if we follow…now."

He sighed and scrubbed his eyes. "We'll wait a day and I'll catch their trail. I know Greyback he will defiantly play with his '_food'_ before actually killing her. He needs to heal himself first of course. So I think we have plenty of time to get Hermione back."

This was not something the boys wanted to hear in any way. He tuned out the shouts of protest and demands that they go after them right away. Finally it became too much to handle as the stress of the battle crashed down on him heavily and found himself turning on both equally exhausted boys.

"Do you want her dead?" Remus nearly shouted. This got them shut their mouths almost instantly. "Then believe me when I say this is for the best. We will get her back, until then lets gather up everyone that is still alive and get to work."

His words became soft and calm again back into the compassionate person he normally was. It would be a tiring thing to attempt right after this gruesome night, but with the knowledge of the defeat of Voldemort firmly behind them. This would hopefully be the last thing of worry on their minds for a long, long time.

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**_A/N: Thank you for reading, and I do hope everyone enjoyed...somewhat. I am not sure what pairing this will be as of yet, but i'm sure we will find out soon. ._**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - Thank you for reading, and to keep from confusing the French that was used will have the translation behind each phrase. Enjoy**

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Chapter 2

Hermione's world slowly started to become alive again. First with sounds, garbled babble, daily noises, the sounds of people walking around, and then slowly her sense of touch. The feel of cotton sheets under her finger tips, the scratchy, but warm shroud of a wool blanket, and just the general sensation of comfort. Finally she dared to crack her eyes, shedding light into the world of darkness she had been in since being plucked from the battlefield.

The first thing she saw when her blurry vision came into focus must have been the sweetest thing her eyes had ever seen. A child stared down at her with unbounded curiosity. The child looked something akin to what she thought a cherub might look like with a mop of wavy blond hair that feel into pastel blue eyes, wide with innocence, and pale skin that was only marred by the delicate flush on the apples of the full cheeks.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak several times and the unnamed child seemed to finally realize what she needed. Rushing out of her line of sight, but soon returned with a cup of water. She tipped her head slightly with the aid of the child and sipped slowly relishing the cooling liquid as it slipped down her throat.

"Aves – vous besoin de toute autre chose?" (_Do you need anything else?) _

Hermione blinked a couple of times at the sudden string of words out of the child's mouth. She frowned when it was repeated and she closed her eyes trying to trudge up something from her knowledge of foreign languages. She knew of course it was French and she opened her eyes to stare at the child.

"P-parlez vous a-anglais?" _(D-do you speak e-english?) _She stuttered out quietly.

"Non," (_No)_ was the returned reply. Hermione was about to ask where she was when a stern voice from the across the room interrupted.

"Que faites-vous, chiot?" _(What are you doing, pup?)_

She didn't know who was speaking, but the boy seemed to shrink back somewhat at the sharp tone, and Hermione didn't catch the rapid question. By the looks of the child it was nothing to nice.

"Benoit," this time the voice seemed forcibly softer. The two were soon talking so fast Hermione couldn't keep up with a lick of it. Finally there was a huff and the disembodied voice came into her peripheral and Hermione swallowed a gasp. It was the same woman that had slung her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and ran.

"Hullo," she said with a sneer as she crossed her arms over her chest. "The boy wants me to tell you something," if Hermione didn't know any better the woman standing in front of her sounded strikingly close to a petulant child. She didn't say anything and merely waited for what ever needed to be said on their behalf.

With a sigh she patiently waited while the boy, who in Hermione's opinion could be easily mistaken for a very pretty girl, spoke softly at her side, and a small smile on his lips.

"He says, the wounds have been cleaned and stitched. When he changed your bandages he found no signs of infection. The feeling and usage of your arm should come back in a couple of days." She paused and grumbled something then smirked down at Hermione, "don't know why their bothering actually. You'll be dead by the next full moon."

Hermione worked to keep her face neutral. Really she wasn't afraid of death. She had faced it day after day for years, and it was nothing new. Still not saying anything she turned her head slightly to the side and smiled at the young boy, who she could see to be about ten or eleven.

"Merci," she said softly. He nodded and smiled in return standing as the woman held out a package wrapped in brown paper.

"Votre mere vous recherché. Allez rapidement avant qu'elle s'inquiete," _(Your mother is looking for you. Go quickly before she worries.) _

Hermione frowned again when she caught the word-meaning mother, and stared at the woman still glowering above her. When the boy left she spoke up quickly.

"The boy-."

"Benoit," the woman interrupted. Hermione nodded slowly.

"Benoit, is the child of a werewolf?"

The woman, who she had still to catch her name, stared down at Hermione a look of contemplation plastered on her smooth features.

"Yes. Most of this clan is from France. Fenrir offered them refuge here from the experiments of their government. Benoit's mother was forced to mate with a male werewolf to produce a child with lycanthropy."

Hermione stared at the woman with an incredulous look on her face. The mere idea of forcing people to do that for experimentation was inhuman, cruel, indecent, and down right disgusting.

"You looked shocked. Don't be. They don't need your pity either, and yes before you ask. The boy is a werewolf," the words hung in the air thickly before she turned and left with out saying anything else. Hermione let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes slowly.

'_Dear Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?'_ she thought to herself.

--

Remus watched warily as Harry paced the length of the kitchen in number twelve Grimmauld Place. His head was bowed slightly, his hair hanging limply in his eyes obscuring it from everyone's stares. There was only a handful of order members left now, and they easily fit into the kitchen as everyone guardedly watched the boy – who – lived to kill he – who – not – be named. They had just brought up the news about Hermione's 'abduction' and were brainstorming a plan on how to get her back.

It was going well until Remus suggested they rest for a couple of days before attempting anything which ultimately set Harry off. He had yelled and cursed at everyone, accusing them of this and that. His hot ire quickly turned to desperation on finding his friend. It just wasn't possible to jump right back up after a war like the one they had been through and run all over England looking for someone. Especially one taken by werewolves who were notorious for keeping their location as well hidden as it was.

It wasn't a matter of taking things lightly; it was only the matter of not having the resources. Everyone was worried for Hermione. She was a valued member of the Order, and had led them in taking great strides over the years. But when Harry heard the words of not going right away he instantly turned a deaf ear to everything else and became irrational.

"Harry," Remus said softly after a moment of watching his best friends son pace furiously. "It is not that we don't want to go get her. It's a matter of recuperating so we can be of help to her when we find her, and we will find her."

Harry's feet finally stopped and he stood rigidly still with his fists clenched at his sides.

"If no one is ready to go find her now then I will go alone," he said through gritted teeth and his voice shaking in barely suppressed emotions. Remus sighed and looked to his right where Ron was sitting with his shoulders slouched and his arms crossed. A blank and unreadable expression was plastered on his ashen face as he stared at one fixed spot on the table before him.

Ron hadn't said a word, and to Remus it seemed like the two had reversed roles. While Harry was usually the one to sit quietly and stew it was Ron who took the most to calm down.

"You don't understand, Harry," Remus said forcefully as he stood. "You can't rightly go up against a clan of werewolves, and expect to walk out in one piece."

"I can and I will."

Remus shook his head and slammed his hand flat against the table making a few people near him jump in surprise.

"Listen to yourself! You've just been through a bloody war!" It was Remus's turn to be aggravated. "Your magical reserves are low. I can practically smell the exhaustion on you Harry! Do you want to have lived all this time only to rush foolishly in to something you know nothing about and die at the hands of Fenrir Greyback?"

Remus let out a shaky breath and sank into his chair putting a hand to his face. "You know nothing of this man, and if you want to save Hermione then you are going to have to be patient."

Harry reeled on Remus then sneering in disdain, "patient? You want me to be patient? When our friend's life is on the line?"

"Yes!" Remus looked up sharply, "you must. Greyback will not kill her until the next full moon. He will play her just like that woman said. He will only enjoy the actual kill when he gets to tear them…apart."

Remus's voice was low and steady only breaking with the growl that escaped his throat. His dislike for Fenrir was great, but not enough to rush into it blindly at the risk of Hermione's life.

"I will say this only once more," Remus said straightening himself and coaxing his body to relax. "You will calm down and we will take a few days to research her location while everyone rests."

Before Harry could protest anymore Remus stood and walked briskly from the kitchen.

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Hermione watched the sun sink slowly into the distant horizon from her position on the bed on her back, and squinted into the bright red/orange hues as the last rays of day slipped away. The boy, Benoit, who had attended to her wounds earlier on in the day had shown back minutes ago and once again cleaned them carefully. She was astounded that such a young child could be so skillful with healing. Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath, before pushing herself up off the mattress with her good arm and swinging her leg off the side of the bed.

She swayed slightly once her full weight on her own two feet, but she pushed passed the slight dizziness and shuffled slowly to the door. She noted that she was had been changed into a new shirt, but wore the same pants she arrived in. Casting a quick look around the small room she didn't see her cloak anywhere so she pulled the thin blanket she had been lying underneath and wrapped it around herself carefully.

The nipping night air wafted stiffly through the open window and a draft came through the crack at the bottom of the door. She grimaced at the feeling and slipped her bare feet into her trainers and walked charily to the door. Her stomach rumbled lightly reminding her of the need to feed and she didn't think twice as she opened to the door to the room she was currently in. When she opened it she found her self standing in an empty hallway.

They must have not thought her much of a threat to leave her door unguarded. Shrugging Hermione shuffled down the hallways towards the hum of voices until she was at the threshold of house. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight before her: a thriving metropolis of people, or werewolves, hustled back and forth. Some carted loads of wood on their backs, others various animal carcasses. She turned her head slightly and spied a group of chattering, laughing women hunched over several large wooden basins as they scrubbed cloths, rung them out, and hung them on lines.

Hermione could see lights being lit in various windows as children of every different size and age ran around, slipping in and out of the steady moving throng of adults. She was watching the scene in front of her so intently that she didn't notice a loan man stop behind her, but when a low growl ripped through his throat and reached her ears she spun around just as she was flung against the side of the house she was still in front of. Hermione closed her eyes against and grimaced against the pain that rippled through her.

The feeling of fingers around her neck made her refocus on the person in front of her. A man roughly a few years older then she, and light brown hair practically sticking up on end stood forebodingly over her. His eyes flashed warningly at her as flashed a row of white teeth at her.

Hermione stared almost impassively at him and waited for him to do his worst. She could see him lean in a bit closer and take a couple of whiffs, to which she raised an eyebrow at.

"So…you're the mudblood…" he growled out in a heavy French brogue. "You seem pretty sure I'm not going to kill you for what you did."

Hermione grunted a bit but didn't say anything as she watched the man in front of her grow angrier as she stayed silent.

"Well…" she said finally speaking up almost taking the werewolf by surprise by her soft controlled voice. "I'm just not afraid to die."

"Oh?" he drawled out slowly as he squeezed her neck.

"I've seen death many times each time with a different face and different motives."

Her voice was hallow and practically devoid of all emotion. This is what the war had done to her. It had taken her parents, countless order members, who were good people, turned several for the worst. It had been too much for some and broke down the weak. But she was still alive, still on the side of light and for all intensive purposes still sane, that she knew of anyways.

"I must admit though," Hermione continued on as she struggled to keep herself upright against the rough wood grains of the house. "If you are in fact the bringer of my death," she paused to smile a bit. "Then you aren't nearly as gruesome as what I've seen before."

The man snarled and opened his mouth only to be stopped when a large hand clamped down on her shoulder. His face jerked back to see how it was and when his eyes met that of Fenrir. His hand instantly released Hermione who slowly slide to the ground as if her legs could no longer support the weight of her body. She looked up through a tangle of curls at the two men as they argued back and forth in French.

She sighed heavily when her stomach growled again and she couldn't help but scowl. Hermione took the chance to look around, as the arguing grew louder catching the attention of the few people that were still wondering around. She briefly wondered where she was and couldn't help but notice that even though the place looked like a small town it was clear that it sat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a dense forest.

A mop of blond hair caught her attention as it bounded towards her in a hurry. Benoit, the boy that she had seen twice already rushed to her side with a smile, although slightly marred by worry.

The child was surprisingly nice and gentle despite the environment he was in. He didn't seem to share the same prejudice views towards her as the others did, and that she was grateful.

"Sont vous bien?" _(Are you okay?)_

Hermione cast him a confused look before frowning trying to remember something about the language from her fourth year when she learned a bit of French from some of the girls she met from the Beauxbatons academy.

"Je ne comprends pas que jes suis desole," _(I don't understand I'm sorry.) _Hermione stumbled to get out. It had been quite some time since she had to say that and knew her accent was poor. The boy stifled a small giggle and nodded.

"Uh…" he looked like he was struggling a bit himself. "You, okay?"

Hermione gave him a tired smile and nodded. "Oui."

"Que faites-vous, le garcon?" _(What are you doing, boy?) _Came the snappish question interrupting both of them. Benoit looked up sharply and quickly replied.

"On m'a dit de m'occuper des ses blessures." _(I was told to tend to her wounds) _

"Who?" Fenrir barked out loudly forgetting to ask in French. Benoit flinched slightly and mumbled something as he ducked his head. "Parlez en haut!" _(Speak up!) _

"Personne. Je l'ai fait tout seul…je suis desole." _(No one. I did it on my own…I'm sorry_) He said as he looked back up at the imposing man with his eyes brimming with tears and a pout tugging at his lips. Hermione bit her own lip at the expression. Despite being in the precarious position she couldn't help but think how heartbreaking the look seemed. She then saw something soften behind the hard layers on Fenrir's cold eyes before he sighed and limped away muttering something beckoning the man who, had moments ago, held Hermione by the throat.

Benoit instantly turned to Hermione with a mischievous little smile and winked. She stared slightly slacked jawed at the boy who seemed so genuine only a split second ago now practically glowing with waywardness.

"Venir!" _(Come!)_ He motioned to her and helped her stand staying at her side as he walked with her back into the house. Hermione shook her head and went along with out resisting, like she could have if she wanted to.

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**A/N - Thank you for reading and I hope to have more out soon .**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - I own nothing. Thanks for reading**

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Chapter 3

_**"The Supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive…" Robert Heinlien **_

'_The Behavior of people falls within a range with some behavior common, some unusual, some acceptable, and some outside acceptable limits. In society, behavior is considered as having no meaning, being not directed at other people and thus is the most basic human action. Behavior should not be mistake with social behavior, which is a more advanced action, as social behavior is behavior specifically directed at other people. The acceptability of behavior is evaluated relative to social norms and regulated by various means of social control.'_

Such a tight knit group of outcasts, fighting to survive, dealing with normal problems; Rejection, acceptance, resistance, life, desire – appetite, hunger and thirst. People who had been gathered and been given a gilded cage as apposed to a life of pain; either way one just seemed a little easier to deal with then the other.

Hermione was amazed to see how well this small community worked with one another. She could see make shift families, of a man, woman, and a child or two. They did not see that the bonds of blood did not tie them together. It was clear that this social balance worked for all. The men hunted for food, repaired homes, made necessities for living from the woods that surrounded them, ultimately providing for their family unit.

The women taught the children the basics of knowledge, sowed cloths, weaved, gardened, cooked, and cleaned. Like wise with the children they were broke up respectively into gender groups. The young boys would learn to do the things the male figures did, and the young girls would follow the women helping with various chores.

That was not to say that it was as peaceful as any normal society outside this small village of outcasts. There were disputes about minor things that would be taken care of in one way or another but for Hermione it just seemed to be something all together new to her. Perhaps it was because she took advantage of her day-to-day life, living next to her neighbor and knowing, in the back of her mind, that they were just the same as she. Knowing that the person she passed on the street on her way to the market was free to choose as she did, and that the person behind her in line at the bookstore did not suffer from an ailment that caused others to ostracize them.

For as knowledgeable as she was, Hermione came to the conclusion she had in fact lived a very narrow minded life. Not seeing the real problems beside her; only the ones that were placed in her path. She could securely say that she was not the only person that could admit to this fact. However as much she, or those she knew, would like to declare they _did_ see these things, and they _did _know these problems, the fact still remained that they were all guilty of not acting or doing anything about it.

Living out each day only worrying about the problems that affected only them. But wasn't that normal for human behavior? Yes, indeed it was normal for _human _behavior, but as society did not categorized these men, women, and children, as human, somehow it opened a new door for Hermione to watch out of. It was a world that she was the one not accepted in, the one with _out _the affliction that made her different.

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Life as it was day to day seemed to progress smoothly, with no current threats hanging over the heads of the pariahs that made up this small parish; with their modest wooden homes, hand made irrigation systems and so on and so on. It amazed Fenrir how society had cast away these people who where obviously so productive and eager to carry out their lives. Some who had been infected with lycranthropy had degrees and were quite knowledgeable in various things. It was what helped make this place thrive as it did.

The thought of how ignorant people could be, and how they let fear override every good intention, made his lips curl into a snarling smile, showing his sharpened canines; weathered from time and use, but still fatal in their bite. What caught his attention now was the passive, but still curious observation of the girl…no woman that had wounded his so deeply on the battlefield.

She did not try and interact with the people around her and in turn they ignored her as if she was just another piece of the land. Fenrir had watched her continuously for the past two days since returning. He could not smell an ounce of fear from her. Was she so ready for death that she merely sat and waited for it, he wondered? The only time he would see a glimmer of reaction on her face was when the French boy, Benoit, would talk to her throughout the day, and tend to her.

Before Fenrir knew it, night had fallen in his domain, and on this particular set into twilight came the monthly gathering. Where a bonfire was lit and the people would gather with food and various musical instruments, with abundant wine passed around to entertain them.

Fenrir as always stayed impassive, but kept his ever-watchful eye on the woman as the blond haired youth steered her towards the bulk of the congregation. The air tasted thick with tension at her arrival, but the boy merely smiled and took to pouring wine into his elder's cups. Urging them silently to drink up. The smell of the day's hunts hung heavily in the air, and the melody of a fiddle being played finally broke the strain.

A skin of wine was pressed into Fenrir's hand and he drank without blinking, and picked at the fruits offered to him in passing. Things, by this time, were into full swing, with small tightly drawn drums being beat, and the playful light song of a fiddle being picked out. Someone was singing an old tune, and everything was only interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter, or the delighted squeal of a child running by.

Still Fenrir could not seem to take his eyes away from the almost wiry haired woman sitting, straight backed, her head held high and her eyes trained forward on the roaring fire. Her white complexion nearly matched that of the long white dress she wore, her attire was not unlike that of everyone else's present, and he could only assume the child had given it to her to wear, possibly from his mother. The garment hung loosely around her shoulders, framing them, and snug around the flare of her hips. Her bare feet were tucked one behind the other, poised at an angle, with her knees together.

The picture of a perfect lady…

His snarling grin crept back onto his face as he took another swig of the fruity wine and stood. He wanted nothing more to see that image crack, and crumble due curtsey of his own hands, of course. Fenrir wanted to taste her blood on his tongue as he licked it from that delicate skin and he wanted her trepidation to fill him as he slowly killed her. Just seeing that calm face of hers sitting, passively, and ignoring her surroundings made his blood sing with ire.

But…he supposed he could have a different kind of fun first.

Taking a step further into the crowd, his presence halted the music and laughter, and everyone…everyone except _her_ looked his way.

Such arrogance, he thought to himself as he titled her head back slightly and looked down at the woman he approached. He took note that Benoit was once again at her side, his hand frozen in midair in a manner that looked like he was about to touch her hand.

"Well," Fenrir growled. "Won't you entertain us tonight, woman?"

Her eyes slowly ascended his towering presence until they met with his own.

"Entertain you?" She questioned. Her only response was broad smile. Fenrir did not step back as she stood slowly in front of him, letting her hands fall limply to her side. His gaze hungrily took in the site of the angry; raw wound still extremely visible marring her now imperfect body. For some reason he liked that he put it there, it told everyone that he had marked her as his prey.

"I didn't take you as one to play with your good, Greyback," her smoky, alto voice jerked him back to reality as he saw that she was staring at him in earnest.

"Well," he returned. "It seems that I am, woman. Now, do it…or are you scared?"

His voiced dropped suddenly, taunting her and he brow twitched in amusement at the anger that flickered through her eyes. She lowered her head, breaking contact with him, her long hair hiding her face from him. Walking past him she presented herself to the crowd of werewolves. In turn he took her spot right in front of her and grabbed a hold of the boy that had started to rise to go after her. He dragged Benoit down until he was sitting next to him, and gave his shoulder squeeze in warning.

Everything was quiet, not even the sounds of the nightly insects dared to break it. With her back to the tall fire her face was shadowed even though he knew that she faced straight ahead. When he watched her take a breath, his eyes widened slightly and the smile dropped from his face when the first soft note surpassed her lips.

"_I here your voice on the wind, and I here you call out my name. 'Listen, my child,' you say to me. 'I am the voice of your history. Be not afraid, come follow me, answer my call, and I'll set you free,'" _

The high note rung deeply into his ears, but it was far from unpleasant. He again was almost shocked to hear the found of the fiddle being played as the muggle born witch sang, but she seemed none pulsed as it joined her.

"_I am the voice of the wind and the pouring rain. I am the voice of your hunger and pain. I am the voice that always is calling you. I am the voice, I will remain." _

Even though her body language did not change, her voice grew more confident with each passing note, crisp, and clear through the evening air.

"_I am the voice in the fields when the summer's gone. The dance of the leaves when the autumn winds blow. Ne'er do I sleep throughout all the cold winter long. I am the force that in spring time will grow." _

Fenrir watched as the fiddle player stepped up and showed off by dancing for the crowd and dipping low as his solo ended and he once again stepped to the side to let way for the voice. He tore his eyes off the figure in front of him and glanced around quickly to see a few people smiling at the familiar tune, and he frowned when he heard the beatings of the drum for its instrumental accompaniment.

"_I am the voice of the past that will always be, filled with my sorrow and blood in my fields. I am the voice of the future, bring me your peace, bring me your peace, and my wounds, they will heal."_

He watched as she slowly brought her good hand to rest across her stomach and her small hand clenched into a fist. Fenrir's attention was once again grabbed by her singing and listened intently as the song climaxed for the ending.

"_I am the voice in the wind and the pouring rain. I am the voice of your hunger pain. I am the voice that always is calling you I am the voice. I am the voice of the past that will always be. I am the voice of your hunger and pain. I am the voice of the future. I am the voice." _

His golden-flecked eyes watched as her closed eyes slowly opened to stare right back at him, in almost a challenging way.

"_I am the voice." _

His top lip twitched at the impudence he saw clearly directed towards him.

"_I am the voice." _

A deep low growl rumbled up through his chest and past his lips when he saw the corners of her lips turn upwards into a small grin.

"_I am the voice." _

When the last note was cute off with a resounding bang of the drums, no one moved, and no one dared speak.

"So," her soft low voice drifted towards him through the silence, and he could hear the slight amusement there. "Was that adequately entertaining, for you?"

Her tone brought forth another growl, this one more audible then before, and he suddenly grinned before standing.

"I do believe you'll be fun…"

He let the words hand in the air, and let them be taken, as they would be without further explanation behind them. By the time he reached his own home he could hear that the music had started up again, but the singing he heard was rowdy and off key. Sighing he pushed open the door and sat down in the thick wooden chair by the open window, content to drift farther into his thoughts, and plans as he listened to gatherings festivities.

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**A/N - Again thanks for reading. The song used was 'The Voice' by the Celtic Women. Hope to see you all at the next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - I own nothing. Remember this is a AU fiction and I know that some characters that are alive should not be (my brother and I got into a fight over my usage of characters in this.) This is not Post DH compatible in anyway. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy on some level.

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Chapter 4 

_**"It is by no means self – evident that human beings are most real when most violently excited; violent physical passions do not in themselves differentiate men from each other, but rather tend to reduce them to the same state…" – Thomas Elliot**_

_Violence is the use of physical force against persons that potentially causes fear, injury or death. Damage, in some contexts, is also considered a form of violence. The definition of violence is often widened to include threats of physical force and substantially abusive language and harassing actions. _

_Societies regulate the use of violence through mores, socio – culture customs, public discussions, and ethical consideration. Most societies recognize a right to violent defense of self and others. Most societies define violence against persons or the property of others as crime._

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The next couple of days that passed flew by in a blur with her minutes, spinning slowly into hours, and hours sinking into days. Now she was lying on the thin mattress with a thick throw wrapped tightly around her slim figure. Snaking a hand from underneath the warmth of the blanket she slowly scratched a fingernail against the grain of the dark colored wood making a light line appear next to the other three.

Four days, it had been four days since awakening here in this very room. Rolling over she peered out of the mess of curly hair that the cooling night air only seemed to make even more unruly. Really it was a frivolous thought she let herself indulge in. So picking at a strand Hermione's gaze drifted the to the bare window were she saw the outline of the new moon peaking back at her, barely visible.

The new moon that meant that she still had fourteen days until the full moon and her undoubtedly untimely exodus from this life. Of course, she thought to herself, it could be worse, she could have been dealt fates fatal card before the final battle. And that was something that got her mind to churning for the first time since arriving.

Who exactly won that terrible battle? Were Harry and Ron all right? Not to mention her other comrades. Everything here seemed to pass in a whole different course of time itself. No signs of the war were present she supposed other then herself. None of the people seemed to be skittish or worried about someone coming from them, which would undoubtedly happen if the light side had won.

Did that mean that Voldemort had won? She wondered. Well if that were the case then she certainly did not have an ice cubes chance in hell of surviving, but over all that was not what worried her. Pushing herself from the bed Hermione wrapped her comforter around her shoulders tightly and headed towards the door, forgoing her shoes.

The light wooden door opened with only the slightest of creaks and she made her way out of it not bothering to close it behind her. Hermione had yet to find out who's house this was but there were no other sounds besides the fall of her own footsteps to speak of, so she was confidant no one else was around at this hour. She had done some exploring of the small, well equipped housing she resided in, temporarily to be sure, but found that it had two bedrooms, a small bath, and entry way with a tiny living area, and a place to eat and prepare food, that she was sure was a kitchen of sorts.

She hissed at the biting cold when she stepped out the front door and into the chilly night, but she let her legs carry her around the now sleeping town. She passed the empty laundry, where she had seen the women during the day, walking further still she passed the blacksmith's workshop, the smell of heated iron still lingering in the air, Hermione could hear the soft clucking of the chickens and the occasional shuffling of various breeds of non magical animals born in captivity to eat. Finally she paused on the edge of the dense forest that marked the border of the small town, if one could call it that.

Hermione didn't think for one moment that she could possibly be on her own as soon as she set foot outside the small cottage she had been taking lodge in, and so it didn't surprise her when she heard the whisper of leaves rubbing against each other. She feigned a sort of flaccid interest in her surrounding and continued to watch the constant shift of shadows among the foliage. Breathing in deeply she didn't flinch when a particularly nipping breezed pushed against her back causing her hair to obscure her vision.

She was about to remove the curtain of hair from her face when she felt cold fingers wrap themselves around her wrist sharply. Her capture and herself stood that way for only a split second before she was spun around and she felt the splinters of an old tree digging into her back through the cover she wore around her shoulders.

Hermione's injured shoulder flared sharply and caused her to loose her breath, her mouth parting in a silent gasp of shock. The grimace of pain was evident as it flashed across her pale face and she heard a deep chuckle of amusement that drifted to ears, sending a cold gripping chill down her spine.

She dared not to open her honey colored eyes and see just who had her in this most painful of positions. Her shoulder throbbed glaringly with each frantic beat of her heart. His breath was blistering as it fanned along the expansion of the sensitive skin of her neck. Fingers had found their way to her cheek dug into her excruciatingly, but she would not flinch, and the hand that encircled her thin wrist seemed only to be there for lack of anything better to do. Apparently he didn't think her much of a match in that moment, and he would be right to assume it. Hermione's legs felt as though they would give way at any moment as he continued to speak against her throat.

"Can you see…?" He said, and in that instant she knew this faceless person to be Fenrir Greyback. As she took a breath she couldn't help but notice the musky, earthy smell that radiated dominancy and maleness.

"Can I see what?" Hermione asked back blandly only betrayed by a touch of impatience. This however did not raise his ire, but made him chuckle deeply, the sound making his firm chest vibrate slightly.

"Can't you see…what this means," the fingers that had loosely encircled her thin wrist moved up at that moment and dug into the still healing wound along her shoulder. This time Hermione could not stop hiss of pain, or the cold sweat that broke out on her forehead along the hairline.

"Surely you give me more credit, Greyback," Hermione panted out through gritted teeth. "I am neither stupid, or hopeful about my situation. I know the chances of my comrades coming for me are slim to none."

She was proud of herself for regaining her composure, and speaking as his fingers still molested the reopening wound.

"I bet you would like to know who won the fight of dark versus light, wouldn't you, woman?"

Hermione sighed, more of relief that he had removed those long fingernails from the raw and now bleeding gap in her skin, then anything else.

"Would it make my position any better?" She asked dully, knowing the answer before he even opened his mouth.

"You are wrong about one thing, I don't think you ignorant, on just about anything, so I'm sure you know that answer, but I will tell you this. I'm sure that your little friends are going to try something foolish, as in rescuing you."

"Ah, so I'll deduce that your master was killed after all…pity," she said with a small frown. At this he laughed again, this one a bit louder and sounding more like a bark.

"You would be correct, your precious light side won, and your beloved pets are safe, I'm afraid."

"Well, it is little consequence to me, since I'll die at your hands either way."

Hermione couldn't help but to jerk slightly when he nipped smartly at her exposed and vulnerable neck. The sounds of his teeth clicking together resonated into the night air before quieting quickly.

"The clan is becoming restless with you among them, and I am not sure how much longer before the full moon I can contain them, especially the men." Greyback practically hissed to her in her ear.

It was in that moment she felt the first inkling traces of fear creep along her spine. She was not afraid dieing by any means, but then again there were things that these half – breeds could do that were far worse then death itself. And in knowing that, her imagination starting wrecking havoc on her over working mind. _Again_, she was not afraid of impending death, she could handle pain, what she did not know is if she could handle that unknowing drawn out fate that awaited her.

Hermione shuddered to think what could be waiting for her. She had assumed or rather she had held onto the small ribbon of hope that she would be taken out quickly. Dead before she had time to hit the ground, that sort of thing. Fenrir obviously loved her state of apprehension, because with just one simple statement, he made her question her unwavering resolve. But it was not the only thing it made her think. Perhaps he was more cunning then she gave him credit for, and perhaps he was merely playing a nice game of cat and mouse with her nerves.

With that in mind now she steeled her nerves, and stiffened against his frame.

"Well, if it comes to that, then I suppose I have no choice in the matter, now do I?" Hermione snapped out.

"Indeed you don't, woman."

With one last deep chuckle he stepped away and disappeared into the background as quickly as he had appeared in it. She saw or heard no traces of him as she pushed herself from the tree and placed a slightly trembling hand to her shoulder tenderly.

" '_From the torrent, or the fountain, from the red cliff of the mountain, from the sun that round me rolled in its autumn tint of gold, from the lightning in the sky as it passed me flying by, from the thunder and the storm, when the rest of heaven was blue…of a demon in my view…'" _

Taking a deep breath she made her way back to the small cottage, with now the promise of a warm bed waited for her, but not the comforts of sleep.

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**A/N - Thank you for reading, I'm terribly sorry this is so short, but I wanted to throw in some of Hermione's nerves being broken down just for a change of pace for her character. Again thanks for reading and the...er...small amount of reviews I appriciate them nontheless. **


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N - Oh dear lord! I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter, but you know how life happens, and motivation seems to take a back seat to it. Anyways thank you all for reading as always I love and cherish each and ever review: MetallicHiss - Sexy - Jess thank you both for leaving your wonderful support through your reviews)**

Chapter 5

"_**He who despairs over an event is a coward, but he who holds hope for the human condition is a fool." – Albert Camus**_

_Hope is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope implies a certain amount of perseverance, for example – believing that a positive outcome is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary. Beyond the basic definition, usage of the term hope follows some basic patterns that distinguish its usage._

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Hermione looked down at the book in her hands not really seeing the words of black against white, and wondered for the hundredth time that day how it had wound up in her possession. It was odd really - she had left her room that morning on the now ritual walk through the bustling village, and returned to find the brown leather bound book copy of "_Oedipus Rex," _lying on the folded sheets of her worn bed.

It struck her as odd, and nagging in her mind how things like this kept on being so in her presence. Then her mind got to really categorizing the recurring strange events since arriving. First there was the fact that she hadn't been killed right away, but that she understood, and had figured out quickly (because Fenrir was a creature of sadism, and would undoubtedly love the thrill of the case and hunt when he was well enough to do it) Then there was the reality that she had been given a place to stay, however temporary, away from the elements, in a structure well equipped for any body to survive on. Then lastly which tied into the reasoning of her first found fact that she was being given the chance to heal.

There were the meals she was given twice a day, the clothes and hot water for her bath, and the small amount of freedom to walk around as she pleased. None of this at all was like a prisoner of war would be expected to receive. Now someone had given her something of material value, and at first she had thought it had been from Benoit, but knew for a fact that he had gone with his 'father' to hunt for the day. They had left before dawn and wouldn't return until sometime after nightfall. So, the book was odd, and left her feeling strangely on guard.

She had, had the feeling of someone watching her for days now, so whoever this was, was probably doing this to watch her reaction to it all, and more then likely hoping for some sort of breakdown on her part. Or perhaps she was reading too much into it…or maybe not. Hermione couldn't be for certain anymore. There was definitely no signs of her friends coming for her, but that did not bother her like she thought it would, sure there was that wayward pain that settled right behind her heart, but it was easily shoved aside.

This place, this small haven for the outcast, was probably so obscure, and out of the way that no one would think to look for where it actual was. Hermione supposed that some sort of disillusion charm much like most magical structures were, so it appeared unsavory to the average muggle observer, shielded it. But she figured by the quietness of her surrounding that muggles were the lowest priority of thing on these people's minds.

And the thought of magic just brought about a whole slew of unanswerable questions accompanied with only unfound able theories. Although her open aired prison was quaint, and at first glance didn't look threatening, there was the crackle and tinge of magic in the air. Hermione knew that she must have been extremely foolish or just hard set on ignoring the obvious facts around her. It could possibly be both, she supposed, and she wasn't used to deluding herself so all these things were of equal possibility.

True she hadn't openly seen anyone here handle a wand, and it only made her wonder where her own was. It was a strong likelihood that Fenrir had it snapped in two, but she rather thought he would tease and taunt her mercilessly if that were the case. Either way she didn't have it so her source of accessing her magic was not, literally, at hand. This was the most thinking that Hermione had done in the past fortnight and she found that it made her head ache terribly. Stirring from her internal pondering Hermione deftly plucked the wrap she had taken to wearing, from the end of the bed and made her way to the door. A nice stroll would do her good.

--

Fenrir only wished the full moon would hurry up and come around, because as each and every day that passed the presence of that insufferable woman in _his_ home made him think strange things and do all sorts of illogical stuff. These past seven days he had been watching the petite brunette and the way she seemed to drift almost thoughtlessly in and out of things here burned him to no end. He knew of Hermione Granger from when the war raged, and knew that she had been an intelligent creature. Well it wasn't that she any less smart now but Fenrir could see the lack of disinterest shining dully through her eyes. Even though he would enjoy nothing more then ripping her to shreds as soon as the next transformation came around, he didn't want his meal just waiting for him.

What fun would that be?

Oh, he knew she wished for a swift death, and there to be no delaying the inevitable, but Fenrir just couldn't let that happen. He had a notorious reputation to keep up – one that he would enjoy upholding to the fullest. But if the food was plain, then what was the point in preparation? The thought sent a sadistic little spur of amusement through him and he grinned. Fenrir let his train of thought stay on that particular set path and continued to smile, garnering uneasy looks from those he passed.

Not really caring for where his feet took him he steadily walked the familiar path of the place he had built with his own hands, knowing each and every dip and snag in the dirt roads that snaked through the structurs. Suddenly the sound of rustling grass, and the smell of another person brought his attention back to reality with a almost violent snap. His dark yellow eyes quickly found the intruder and they narrowed in suspicion.

The sound of slowly trickling water, and birds calling from the protection of the trees around joined his sences as well, but his eyes were trained on nothing more then the bain of his existense. Hermione Granger, crouched at the knees while she stretched out her good hand to the bubbling water in front of her. She had her slim back to him and apparently didn't notice him or was ignoring him.

Fenrir oddly enough didn't move as he studied her with a blank face, increasingly curious as to what she was doing, and what she was going to do, or even why she was here. He watched as her outstreatced hand hung lightly over the water before her fingers plunged slowly into the clear water. The action of her movement caused the light shaw to drop from her thin shoulder and slip down her arm, presenting the sight of the raw wound there. Fenrir's attention was captivated at the sight of the jagged line that ran its way from the top of her shoulder to slightly up her neck, and down where he couldn't see but knew it ended at her chest. His hands had made sure it would be a painful thing and not easily forgotten. His fingers twitched slightly at the remembrance of how his long nails had sliced open that delicate skin, almost like paper.

The skin around the puffy injury was swollen and red making it all the much more glaringly obvious against the staunch, stark color of her pale skin. Fenrir's curiosity peeked when she brought her hand from the water and slowly pressed it against the redness. No doubt that the wound was fevered and hot with pain and the cool, crisp water eased that somewhat.

As her hand moved from her chest to her throat, Fenrir's mouth watered as he watched small droplets of water run their mindless courses across the open expansion of her skin, leaving small raised bumps in their wake from their coldness. His resolve broke and he found himself directly behind her within a couple of long strides. Still the woman did not look up and he knew she didn't know he was there. His grip seized her small arms and she gasped in shock, and her body stiffened instantly.

From his position kneeled slightly behind her he could see the myriad of emotions that she hadn't been able to stamp down pass through her eyes: shock, confusion and above all a smidgen of fear.

_'Now thats what i'm talking about' _Fenrir thought to himself with a small grin. Oh but how he dearly wanted _more _then just a small piece of fear planted within this woman, he wanted her consumed with it until she couldn't think straight. He wanted her so completely drowned in it until she thought she would die from the shear suppressing weight of it all.

The raging need of that emotion he so desperately wanted to plant there in her made him take a deep ragged breath in and slowly exhale it against the mark he so kindly bestowed on her. Watching as a small shudder racked her body he couldn't stop the small tingling thrill that ran down his spine causing a low animalistic growl to rumble up from his throat and across her vulnerable neck.

His eyes had shifted from it half view of her face to the still red wound, and without giving it much thought he opened his mouth and ran his tongue along it, tasting the familiar tangy sweetness of blood that had yet to clot at the surface. Fenrir was enjoying himself greatly with the taste of her skin and metallic twinge as it mixed together on his tongue. What he wasn't ready for was the small whimper that past the woman's lips or the sudden limpness of her body against his.

It was the sudden submission from the small woman that threw him off as he continued to lave the mark slowly and growl against her skin. His right hand quickly found its way up her arm and his fingers found their place around her delicate neck. And with a swift motion that could only seen as feline she was on her back with Fenrir hovering above her, one hand fisted into the grass beside her head and the other still snuggly around the slim column.

Fenrir could feel his knees getting thoroughly soaked from the moisture of the ground, but he ignored it all as he sized up his prey. Her long curly brown hair was splayed haphazardly around her face and across his fingers, and even though she looked at him blankly and with out much interest, Fenrir saw the way her chest heaved slightly and heard the short wispy breaths she panted out or the way she uncomfortably shifted her legs. Even though it was cool out, the bright sun was warm enough to allow the comforts of short-sleeved attire, seeing as how winter was giving way to spring. And as such Hermione wore a thin strapped top that bunched slightly, showing a mere couple of inches of her stomach. The earthy colored ankle length skirt she had worn was now gathered dangerously above her knees, flashing just enough thigh to elicit another growl from Fenrir.

"Your were the one..."

Her voice was so soft and airy that Fenrir almost missed it and it caused him to snap out of his inspection immediately. He snarled once he registered her words, flashing his canines at her in amusement.

"I was the one to what, woman?"

"The one that gave me the book."

His amused grin spread when she asked why. "I don't know if you know what kind of..._man_...I am," he stressed the word loosely. "But you'll find I do in fact like toying with my food first, and one thing that us werewolves like more then anything is to have a lively dinner...so to say."

He was pleased to see the preverbal wheels turn in her head, right behind those honey colored eyes of hers, and his grin turned into a smirk as he watched realization dawn on her face in the form of a small frown.

'_That's it...give me something other then that unwavering resolve as you wait for your end to near,'_ he thought to himself knowing that she had probably wondered about the when, why and what of everything happening around her. He thought now would be a good time to unload a piece of information he had been keeping out on.

Slowly he leaned down his smirking lips ghosted dangerously close to her own. "Would you like to know something good, woman?"

He almost chuckled as her eyes widened a fraction, but made no other motion.

"It seems your friends _are _foolish enough to come for you, and it seems they are making increasingly good progress in finding you even with the trail on you as old as it is."

Fenrir's tongue flicked out slowly and traced to exposed fangs hanging forebodingly down, "It also seems that they'll have the pleasure in seeing you torn to bits. Perhaps your friends will be a fair sport as well."

He had the satisfaction of seeing her pretty little features harden; her brow burrowing furiously at that statement and this time he couldn't help the chuckle that came through his mouth.

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**A/N - once again thanks for reading, and I am so terribly sorry for the stupid spelling mistakes before I updated. Gah – I did a spell and grammar check and I wanted to bludgeon myself with something anyways sorry about that:D hope ya'll come back now, ya hear?**


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